


Coffee for my Sweet

by Nutbrain



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Established Relationship, It’s fluff, M/M, Montagne is a sweetie, busy gustave doing doctor things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 12:21:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21179360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nutbrain/pseuds/Nutbrain
Summary: Gustave is having a busy day. Montagne is there to make sure he takes care of himself.





	Coffee for my Sweet

Gustave stepped into the clinic half past six, finely polished shoes tapping loudly against the quiet tile as the lights flickered on above as he made his way across the room to his private office in the back. It wasn’t anything impressive, certainly not as lavish as a private practice, but it was cozy and he spent much of his time working in it. The Frenchman tugged his keys from his pocket, jiggling the lock to turn it before he swung the wooden door open and sighed as he remembered the work he had left for himself. He’d neatly sorted the papers in piles across his desk the night before and had no doubt that the tower would continue to climb as the day progressed. 

_Today’s tomorrow is tomorrow’s today_. He thought with a sigh as he pushed the door shut, latch clicking softly. Reaching up, the Frenchman tugged his white coat off the hook behind the door, shrugging it over his shoulders and smoothing out the collar. He adjusted his hair, smoothing a hand through the still damp locks, which he had hoped would have dried faster this morning. The shower, however, was an unnecessary evil after his workout this morning with Gilles. Gustave often said the man would give CrossFit coaches a run for their money, something that his aching muscles were currently reminding him of.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

His fond smile quickly fell as he once again caught sight of the papers he still had to sort through. With a long suffering sigh, Gustave settled into his desk chair, maroon leather well worn from long nights of documentation and research. Habitually brushing off the perceived dust from the desk edges, the Frenchman waited for his computer to boot, logging through several levels of security in order to get a look at his schedule. Gustave’s nose wrinkled as the computer stalled out on the login screen, debating if his username and password were still acceptable. After a few seconds of staring, Gustave rolled back his chair and rose to start up the coffee pot situated along the wall. He puttered around, collected the necessary items, and idly wondered how he was already almost out of coffee grounds (if asked, he would fervently deny going through three to four pots a day).

A few gurgles and sputters later, the coffee pot began to spit out Gustave’s personal ambrosia. In a move that would likely bring disgust to Montagne’s face (and his own later), he removed the pot to pour a cup before it finished brewing. The coffee’s taste was much more acidic than he normally preferred, and the pot later would be much weaker, but it appeared the computer had reluctantly accepted his credentials and was displaying the day’s schedule. With another deep pull from his cup, Gustave flopped back into his chair and scooted it closer to look.

It appeared a busy clinic day was ahead. The clinic was horribly understaffed for the amount of Rainbow personnel the Frenchman needed to look after (something he’d sent many an email to Harry about several times). Thirty patients to see in clinic throughout the day, thirty patients to care for, and thirty patients to document, which, much to Gustave’s frustrations, often took twice as long as the visits with his charges. The doctor sighed as he perused the schedule and tried to figure out where he’d have time to squeeze in other obligations, like the meal he’d been promising Montagne for the last week. His eyes flicked from name to name, tapping his fingers in thought against the study mahogany, foot bouncing as he attempted to puzzle together some of the reasons each patient would be coming in for. He chuckled when he saw Baker’s name on the list, no doubt the appointment had been made by one of his younger teammates; Thatcher waited until he was at death’s door before he himself would bother calling in. With another long pull of coffee and a determined look, the Frenchman set about his day.

Gustave had cleared through about half the stack of papers before a knock at the door disrupted his focus. His eyes flickered over to the time displayed on his computer, realizing that it was already 8:10 and he was supposed to be getting ready for his patients.

“Ah, yes. I’ll be out in just a moment.” The nurse on the other side of the door laughed, accustomed to the doctor’s ways. Gustave pushed back from the desk, polishing off his cup and refilling it with the rest of the coffee pot before setting it on its coaster. His stethoscope was tugged from the pocket of his white coat and slung around his neck. A deep breath and Gustave strode into the clinic, smile on his face.

Four patients in and Gustave had already downed his cup of coffee in between dropping charts off at his desk. He swirled what few drops were left at the bottom and attempted to coax them out of the cup with little luck. He briefly debated restarting the pot as he scanned the schedule. No time, there were already four patients waiting for him and he couldn’t bring himself to take more time out of their schedules than necessary. Running a hand through his hair, he adjusted his lab coat, careful to not look half as harried as he felt while he once again departed his office.

After the eighth patient, Gustave arrived back to his office, cup full once again, this time with coffee that had been brewed properly. He made a mental note to figure out who was responsible and thank them profusely as he downed half of it. Gustave nearly missed the little note set on his desk, written in red ink and punctuated with a heart at the bottom.

_“Gustave, I know you’re busy. Hope this keeps you going._

__

__

_Love, Gilles”_

Gustave was smiling like a lovesick fool for the next hour, his few patients commenting on how pleased he looked.

Days like this moved mercifully quickly. By the time the waiting room was cleared it was 12:30, thirty minutes until the next patient arrived. The nurses, who he had long dismissed for lunch, had squeezed another two patients into the morning, making for a total of seventeen. Gustave had managed to document two while he was waiting for others to be roomed, fingers flying across the keyboard. 

Gustave tossed the most recent chart on the pile, frowning at the height of it. He spied a few packets that had been added and wiggled them out. Two from Harry asking him to read through and offer an opinion, another from Finka’s research progress, and a third from the GSG9 wanting to know what he’d meant when he’d attempted to document Bandit’s most recent...injuries. That one he tossed to the bottom of the pile, headache mounting as he attempted to think of professional ways to explain that the man had inhaled too much airborne powdered sugar.

Rubbing at his temples, Gustave decided a working lunch it was, polishing off the coffee pot and starting a new one before he settled in. As he glanced through Finka’s progress notes, Gustave fumbled around in his top drawer, finally finding a packet of almonds and scarfing down the small bag as he scanned the document. That finished, Gustave dusted off his fingers and stretched, organizing his thoughts. His first order of business would need to be an email addressed to Harry, informing him that if he wanted Doc to pull double duty between missions and clinic, he would have to wait on opinions on thirty page packets. Pleased with himself, Gustave clicked open the chart he was halfway through and began the tedious process of documentation. 

His phone buzzed while he was double checking a med dosage on the screen; Montagne had messaged. Gustave smiled softly, but swiped up on the notification, the banner partially obscuring the information he needed. He would respond to it after he finished this one chart he reasoned, clacking of the keys drowning out the next vibration.

Two charts later, lunch had seemingly come and gone in a matter of minutes. Gustave rubbed at his eyes, lids feeling heavy as he was reminded he’d barely slept four hours the night before. Blinking repeatedly, Gustave shook it off, finishing the rest of the coffee in one fell swoop. He squinted at the schedule’s “Reason for Visit” and wondered how one of the recruits had gotten into what was believed to be poison ivy (which didn’t grow in the UK to his knowledge), before running a hand over his face and shaking his head. Deciding to wait for the physical exam before he started puzzling that out, Gustave deftly adjusted his coat and was curling around the office door, text message sitting forgotten on his phone.

The second half of the day took considerably longer for the Frenchman. Jäger had to be added to his schedule after he’d missed a nail and hit his index finger with the hammer instead. An impressive blood blister was already in place near the distal interphalangeal joint as Gustave carefully inspected it. He sighed as Jäger winced at his gentle prodding.

“We need to get this X-rayed. Likely now and, if that doesn’t show anything, in a few days after the swelling has gone down, just to be sure.” Jäger grimaced at the digit, experimentally moving it before flinching in pain.

“You know, I saw a documentary one time…” the German began. Gustave sighed as the engineer got started, carefully ushering him over to imaging before passing him off to the tech, fond but exhausted smile pulling at his lips. While Gustave enjoyed interacting with his fellow defender, he was already thirty minutes late for his next patient.

Two patients later and zero documentation done, Doc miracuously had a break when a patient was a no show. Taking his time, he slid into his desk to answer messages and recaffeinate. It appeared Jager’s X-rays results were in his messages and he clicked into the alert, scanning the report and then the image itself. A hairline fracture of his index finger meant Gustave would have to call him back to have it splinted, lest the engineer injure it further, assuming the man hadn’t already MacGyvered something together himself (or had been preemptively treated by a hovering Bandit). Doc put a note in for one of the nurses to call Jager back to the clinic before clicking through the rest.

Towards the end of the day, Gustave had a growing headache at his temples that was softly pounding away, as if to remind him coffee was no replacement for proper sleep. However, if anyone asked, he’d attribute it solely to Baker. The man had been drug in by an adamant Mute (who insisted that he not spread his illness), Smoke (who didn’t want to take it back to his daughter), and Sledge (who was simply tired of hearing the older man complain). It took all of two seconds for Doc to see just how sick Thatcher was, and after a short history and physical, it appeared he had a sinus infection with a touch of bronchitis, something the Brit refused to accept. It was a collective effort to convince the bullheaded man to take the antibiotics offered. Thatcher had refused to voluntarily take time off for his illness so Doc had to go through more official channels. Sledge mercifully took the blunt of that argument, squashing it in the office with the promise to debate in the car ride home while Gustave saw to the rest of the patients on his schedule.

At the end of the day, the Frenchman felt like crawling into his office and flopping on the floor. The small pile of papers had grown into a veritable mountain the last time he’d checked. Restraining himself, he bid his nurses a goodnight, thanking them for their hard work in keeping everything running smoothly. For the sake of the environment, Gustave flicked off a few of the clinic lights before trudging back to his office in the dark. The door felt much heavier than it had this morning as he entered, tossing the newest charts on his desk before sinking down into his chair. He signed a few documents that were laid out across his desk, scrawling signature become messier as he signed his life away.

Looking at the computer, the words seemed to swim out of view in his tired eyes. Perhaps just a few moments to rest his eyes before he got back into it. Gustave leaned back in his chair, eyes sliding closed and finally able to sit still as the computer hummed white noise.

“Gus, it’s bed time my love.” Gustave started, eyes blinking furiously. A heavy hand was at his right shoulder and soft touches in his hair. The office was much darker than it had been a few moments ago. The computer’s screen was dark, so Gustave snagged his phone off the desk instead; three hours had passed since he’d decided to rest his eyes and he groaned. Not only that, but he’d missed a good amount of texts from the man now standing next to him.

GIlles stared down at him, dressed in civilian clothes that highlighted his body just so. Gustave couldn’t help but smile, heart fluttering with affection even as the other man looked at him with poorly hidden, but well meant, frustration. Gustave patted the hand on his shoulder, wiggling his mouse to wake up his computer.

“My apologies, Gilles. It’s been a hectic day and I must have dozed off. Let me finish a few of these charts before we get food.” Much to Gustave’s confusion, the computer did not boot. He frowned down at the tower, noticing that the usual blue light was off.

“Did you--?” Before the doctor could finish his sentence, Gilles was tugging out his chair and pulling him out of his seat. Before Gustave knew it, he was in the larger man’s arm bridal style. The moment he opened his mouth to protest, soft kisses pecked around his mouth, coaxing him to return them. Still sleep dazed, Gustave allowed himself to be carried around the desk, following GIlles’ mouth as he attempted to pull away. The resulting laugh rumbled cheerfully against his side. Gustave looped his arms around the other’s neck, pulling him back down as he attempted an apology for the ignored texts, as Gilles nuzzled into him before pulling back once again, this time to tackle the door.

“I spoke with Harry and convinced him to let you out of the meetings tomorrow so you can catch up with paperwork. I also told him if he dropped more on you, we’ll be having a very stern conversation.” Gustave smiled at how firm Gilles’ tone was; his conviction was admirable. Gustave chest lifted in relief at the much needed time to catch up and breath a bit.

“My hero. What do I owe such a feat?”

“Hmmm, I think dinner would be a good start. And perhaps drinking actual water instead of bean water.” The smile that played a Gilles lips went straight to Gustave’s heart.

“I think perhaps that can be arranged. It appears that there’s now a large opening in my schedule tomorrow where I can fit you and water in. Might be a bit tight though” The doctor answer playfully even as a yawn broke up his sentence. Gustave buried his nose against his lover’s chest as he walked through the clinic, inhaling deeply the scent of his cologne. As Gustave reached out to turn the lights off, he couldn’t help but think the day had come nearly full circle even if he was leaving in more style than he’d arrived in. Unfortunately, there was still a large amount of paperwork left to attend to tomorrow, just as there would be every day. With a smile, Gustave looked up at the man carrying him through the halls; he’d take his Montagne over mountains of paperwork any time.


End file.
